Lancelot and Guinevere: A Critical Study
by Marie-Constance Quesnet
Summary: If this is a sample of his work, Autor should never, ever be a writer. (NSFW)
1. Chapter 1

"Quickly my lady, hide!" Lancelot whispered feverishly as he delicately laid a hand on her hip and helped shove her gently under the Round Table, where the Knights usually held their meetings.

"Oh! Oh, Lancelot, I will!" she whimpered happily, and then sleeked her fingers down his noble legs.

"Gui-guinevere," the knight gasped, and then moaned in exquisite pleasure as she leaned forward and touched him after he had already sat himself in a chair, "what are you doing?!"

"I have wanted your fresh prick for so long," the Queen consort purred insistently, just like a kitten except for a lot more erotic.

* * *

Autor dipped his quill into his ink bottle and licked his lips. He glanced at the door once, twice, trying to keep his scandalous writing nearly as covert as the Knight and his Lady. The fingers of the boy's free hand twitched against his thigh, but he was sure he'd remain resolute this time.

He straightened his pages and tried to ignore the shameful heat curling in his belly.

* * *

Suddenly, Lancelot found himself without his clothes and chain mail down below and his roaring, throbbing manhood was on full display in all its erect glory.

"You beast!" she giggled, playfully coy. She laid her voluptuous mouth upon him and avoided scratching it with her teeth somehow, and in response the knight tipped his head back and made a sound that righteous people in a choir would not.

"Guinevere, you... this is not what a lady should do!"

"Then let me never be a lady!" she cried loudly, ever strong and ever impudent, and so she therefore immediately divested herself of the top of her gown, baring her most excellent mammary flesh.

* * *

Flushed and dizzy, Autor grit his teeth to choke off a groan. His thin pianist's fingers had long drifted towards the front of his trousers, and each feather-light stroke sent white-hot fire through him.

* * *

And Lancelot did ever admire such a strong woman (it was why he fell in love with her in the first place), though he did have his concerns and so he voiced them eloquently. "But you are staining the knees of your dress."

"It is worth it such that I may be with you under this table as that is the best desire of my life because I've always wanted to do so," she said, and both of their hearts delighted in such a notion.

"I love you," said one.

"I love you too," said the other.

And after that not once did she take her mouth away; it was like to drive him madder than a hornet's nest.

* * *

The boy thrust into his sweat-slicked hand, panting. He'd long abandoned his precepts of impurity and a weak mind. Now he was driving himself towards a cliff, burning inside and out, narrowed down to gliding against his hand and spreading ink across his parchment.

* * *

Queen Guinevere's ardent orbs bounced rapidly as she rotated her head around Lancelot's interested man scepter.

Lancelot couldn't decide if he were in hell or heaven, as the things the Lady were doing to him were so sinfully pleasurable and yet it was so incredibly wrong of him to betray his king, which just added to the excitement. "YES! DO NOT STOP, MY LADY! MY LADY!" he shouted happily, wriggling sinuously due to her effective ministrations.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh! OH, LANCELOT!" she screamed just as a strong woman does, writhing and moaning and thrashing her head about, managing not to scrape her crown on the table, and then she was just about t-"Autor! Dinnertime!"

* * *

The boy gasped, startled, and his hands slipped. "Damn it!" Autor hissed. An upended ink bottle blotted out the written evidence of his wrong-doing, but his body still trembled with his pent-up desires.

"I'm coming!" he cried, regretting the phrasing as soon as he said it. He stuffed himself into his trousers before cleaning up his desk, and then headed downstairs.

The writer was a bit disappointed that the story was ruined. It was one of his best.


	2. Helen and Menelaus

"Ah!" Helen cried, stumbling back from the armored Greek who wore his gleaming armor in a way quite fetching. "Who are you!"

"Helen, Do you not recognize your husband after the thousand ships I launched in your name?" Menelaus said, and ripped off his helmet with a shower of sweat which glistened in what sun hadn't yet been blocked by the smoke from the siege fires cropping all over the place like red fungi.

Note: There are four versions of the reunion of Menelaus and Helen, of which this is a common theme: "I shall kill you for your treachery, wench!"

Helen shrieked, and immediately divested herself of her robes to divulge the secret view of her gorgeous globules, upon which her husband groaned and dropped his sword elsewhere.

"Alas for my troubles!" Menelaus cried, aping the words of Electra because they suited his current predicament rather conveniently. "Can it be that her beauty has blunted my sword? Helen, please make sweet, sweet music with me."

"But Menelaus, my love! Troy burns all around us!" Helen pointed out pretty much superfluously as the fact that Troy is burning has been clearly stated in the narration before, and given that Menelaus has eyes, he can see it.

"Yes, pet, I know," he said, patiently and in a manner that would cause many women to swoon due to the manly pitch and perfect key, which may or may not be a D-flat but that sort of thing is kind of subjective anyway and therefore up for debate. "I burned it for you."

Helen turned both white as a sheet and red as a winter apple. "I don't know what's hotter, then - the fires of your intimate passions or the physical fire which is really quite warm and happens to be everywhere!" she wailed, as passionately as she declared him to be, which is quite a bit. "Either way I am to be consumed in short order! Your clothes, allow me to remove them in a manner most hasty!"

So she did, tossing the armor in the same elsewhere place as the sword, so the lovers didn't land on either, and really it only took a few minutes which is good because Stesichorus illustrated that both Greeks and Trojans gathered to stone her to death, and that only Priam and the now-deceased Hecter were ever kind to her.

She flicked her wine-red eyes appraisingly on the man as naked as a Grecian statue rather than an actual Greek, and purred at him in a deliciously devious manner that made it pretty damn clear why she was worth launching a war that signified the end of the age of heroes in classical literature.

"Homer will write to say that I was lonely and desperate as I roamed the streets," she purrs again, pushing him down to the earth which is really rather blackened and covered in war remains at this point but still as soft as a mattress. "And that 'all men shudder at me'."

He barked out a laugh and let him push her even though she really is whippet thin and even though she's got the strength of a dancer as she straddles his hips that's nothing compared to a war hero. "I'll shudder," he says devilishly, almost as devilishly handsome as he is, "but I'll not leave you lonely or desperate."

And then he bent his spine and craned his neck such that he can crush his mouth against hers seeking some serious plunder and in return she rode him like a Trojian horse, which in the Aeneid she signaled to the Greeks with a torch but in the Odyssey, she tortured the men inside by imitating the voices of the Greek women back home because she felt like being ambiguous.

Regardless, Menelaus was pretty much the opposite of tortured right now as she wasn't imitating a Greek woman's cries, but actually being one and making them and really, he would have thought they were rather lovely were he not busy bellowing louder than she was.

"Yes, Menelaus! Yes!" she cried and cried again, busy making cries as she threw back her head full of beautiful, feathery black hair. She grasped at the net that is his chest hair, and when her rather nice legs tightened around his waist-

* * *

"Autor," his teacher said, raising his brows. "Are you ready for your oral presentation?"

And the boy, startled into covering the notes he was taking, flushed.


End file.
